Illusion
{|style="width:100%; color:#FFF;" |valign="top" style="padding:5px;"| Chapter 1 = :"Ha. Beat that." :The man paused for a millisecond before moving his next piece, brow furrowed as he contemplated his newest strategy. The holographic chess set flickered as he tapped a black square and his knight moved there, then he withdrew his hand and folded his arms, daring his opponent to make her move. :Cortana's "eyes" narrowed and she gave a little huff, moving a castle to counter her adversary's advance. "That was just luck and you know it," she declared, a hint of frustration in her smooth voice. The AI, only a few inches tall on the board, rested a "hand" on the nearest bishop and cocked her head. "I'd love to see the gears turning inside that thick skull of yours, but sadly I don't have X-ray vision. What's your plan?" :"Winning," the old man muttered, then moved a pawn. :Cortana snorted and promptly captured the pawn with a pawn of her own. "Right. You are predictable if anything," she sighed. "But you know you can't beat the best mind around, right?" :"I can try." :"Laconic as you are stubborn," Cortana sighed. "Go ahead. Make my day." :"I intend to." :The next ten minutes were filled with intense silence. The man sat rigidly still, dark eyes fixated on the board before him. Cortana was getting impatient and strolled across the board, weaving in and out among the chess pieces. "Any century now," she said dryly, yawning. :"You know me, Cortana. I don't give up easily," the man grunted. "I'll take my sweet time." :"You take your sweet time doing just about anything these days," Cortana shot back. :"Can't help getting old." There was a trace of sadness in the man's voice, but it was well-disguised. :Cortana looked a little guilty, taking a step backward. "You know you're still my knight in shining armor, right?" she asked, hoping to make him feel better. "Maybe not encased in a glorified tin can anymore, but still…" :"Hey, my MJOLNIR got completely wrecked in '86. Not my fault ONI quit making the stuff." To punctuate his declaration, he shoved a bishop at Cortana's defenses, then sat back in his chair with a somewhat haughty expression. :A grin spread across the slim blue AI's face and she clapped her hands in glee. "Ah, the fatal mistake," she purred, then moved a castle directly across the board. "Checkmate!" she proclaimed, defiant even in victory. :The man stared, then blinked once, comprehending the utterly incomprehensible strategy she had used. He deactivated the chess board and all the pieces vanished, leaving Cortana by herself. "Aw, a sore loser," she smirked. :"Me, a sore loser? You're the one who shut down an entire chat room because I beat you at twenty questions." :"That website was rigged, I tell you. There was corrupted code…" :Cortana's voice trailed off as someone else entered the room. It was a man in a white coat and scrubs, and he approached the seated man warily, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder. "Is everything all right, sir?" the man asked in a gentle, non-threatening voice. :"Everything's fine. I was just playing chess." :"I thought I heard you talking to someone," the whitecoat said. He took out a clipboard and a pen. "Who were you talking to, John?" :"Cortana." The word was blunt and forceful and had an obvious duh attached to the end of it. :"Now, now, we've been through this before. Cortana went rampant and was deactivated in 2580, shortly after the UNSC found you. Do you remember that, John?" :John resisted the urge to glower. He hated this man, this doctor, the way he treated him like a patient, kept repeating his name like he was only five years old. He could still break this man's neck with his pinky, but that wouldn't solve anything. Just get him thrown in with the "dangerous" patients. :"Yes." A long pause, then he cleared his throat, staring at the blank chessboard. There was no little blue AI there. No familiar presence. Just the stark black and white squares. :"That's very good, John," the doctor said soothingly. "Now, why don't we take you to get your meds—" :"I'm fine." John reached down and wheeled himself backward, away from the table. He detected fear in the doctor—fear that someone who was supposed to be old and decrepit was wheeling all 270 pounds of themselves without electronic aid. The years might have stolen the color from his hair and some of the spark from his vitality, but they hadn't taken the brute strength from his arms yet. And the doctor knew it. :"Uh, well, that's good, then." The doctor retreated toward the door, nodding as he went. "Take care, John. And remember. Anymore hallucinations, and you get more meds. Okay?" :John didn't respond, just set his jaw and wished he had an assault rifle available so he could throw it. :He wheeled himself out of the recreation room, past other residents of the UNSC-run "retirement facility." The same accident that had ruined his Mk VI MJOLNIR armor had also taken the use of his legs… and landed him in this sterilized hell. Thirty years and he still hadn't been able to get out of here. He wanted to go outside, see what had become of the world, but ONI wouldn't let him. The doctors at this place were under strict orders to keep Sierra 117 from escaping confinement. Having a Spartan-II living among the civilian population was something that apparently most ONI officials frowned upon. :What year is it? 2617? Or maybe 2618? I keep losing track, he thought bitterly. 107 years old, ninety-eight if you discounted the years spent in cryo, and he didn't look a year over seventy. Apparently one of the many benefits of Spartan augmentations was incredible longevity and delayed aging. He worked out as much as possible, keeping his upper body trim, and was still strong enough to bench-press slightly more than twice his own weight. He still had all hair, but it was silver, now approaching white. The scars etched across his face intimidated people, as did his quiet mannerisms. He didn't fit in here, not among the aged and the weak and the sick. :He got to his room—designation C1679—and managed to shut the door behind him before wheeling over to the window. The blinds were open, letting sunlight stream in. He was thankful for it—it was warm and reminded him of Reach. He sat there with eyes shut, imagining himself standing in a grassy field, dressed in comfortable fatigues. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he sighed wistfully. :"John?" :He opened his eyes. :Cortana tsked and crossed her arms. "You shouldn't be angry with him. He was just doing his job." :"I know." :The blue AI hopped down from his bed and landed on the arm of his wheelchair, then sat down, kicking her legs and giving him a sideways, sad look. "Am I really dead and gone, John? Like he said?" :"No." John tapped his right temple with his forefinger. "You'll always be in here. Always. Sometimes… I reach back there and expect to find you in your slot, like it used to be…" :"You're being sentimental." Cortana shook her head. "Never thought I'd see the day." :"I promised I wouldn't leave you behind again," John whispered, suddenly solemn. "And when I make a promise…" :"… you keep it," Cortana—the memory of Cortana, the Cortana he had lost and found and lost again—said softly. :John closed his eyes again. "Yeah," he muttered, emitting a powerful, weary sigh. "I keep it." :Cortana didn't say anything else, and he willed himself to sleep. It was quite easy to do; his Spartan training enabled him to virtually shut himself down when needed. The warmth brought in by the sunlight was comfortable and he wanted to escape from the smell of disinfectant and the drudgery of living in a hospital room. :"Chief?" :His eyes snapped open and he felt the familiar whiff of air scrubbers against his face. It was a clean, metallic smell, one he'd been missing for far too long. The lights and radar of his HUD were a welcome sight, as was the familiar bay of a Pelican dropship. He reached down and curled his armored hands around the glorious, irreplaceable contour of an MA5B assault rifle. :A familiar cold sensation washed over his mind and he heard a feminine sigh in the speakers of his helmet. "Chief, wake up. You're needed on this mission," Cortana urged him. :"I'm awake." The Master Chief rose and stood, watching as alien terrain flashed by. The Pelican was descending fast, and though he was the only one present in the blood tray, he had never felt so alive. So at home. "What's our situation?" :"Did you really have to ask?" Cortana groused, as they passed over gleaming, purple Covenant vehicles that spat plasma mortars at the Pelican. "It's business as usual, and our customers are pissed." :"Just the way I like it," the Chief muttered, resisting the urge to grin from ear to ear. "Lucky me." :It was just a dream, of course… but it was his dream, and that was all that mattered. |-| Chapter 2 = :"Where is she?" :It was more of an angry demand than a frail request, and the doctors knew it, because their fear showed in their eyes. They were used to patients having emotional trauma, pitching fits, but this was on a whole new level entirely, and Patient C1679 was a special case altogether. :John felt a spike of adrenaline as the men and women in white coats flocked around him, not answering his question. He felt like a cornered, crippled animal, confined to his wheelchair, but the urge to fight and flee was stronger than ever, and it pounded in his ears like some primal drumbeat. He was anxious, he was upset, and he wanted out. Not only did he want out, he wanted answers. Never mind that he'd probably heard them before and simply forgotten a few weeks later... :One of them- petite, dark-haired, Oriental in the face- readied a syringe, most likely a sedative, and John desperately asked his question again, before the drugs could confound his tongue and fog his mind. "You have to tell me where she is. I can't find her. If I don't find her the Gravemind will-" :"Shhhh. It's gonna be okay," one of the nurses assured him, and he wanted to punch her in the face because things were definitely not okay and he was not going to "shhhh" for anyone. "Now John, I want you to listen to me. There is no Gravemind..." :No Gravemind... no. No, that's not right. She's gone. I left her. I have to find her... :"Cortana stayed behind," he shot back, shying away from the nurse who swabbed his arm with an alcohol-soaked cottonball. "You don't get it. I have to go back..." :Their faces swam in his vision, all false smiles and cold, professional eyes, and the way they looked at him made him feel sick, because he wasn't made to be pitied and scorned like a doddering senile nut job. "Just calm down," the Oriental nurse soothed, and the needle slid under his skin with a cold pricking sensation. "Everything will be all right..." :Needles. They entered his veins and pumped in something that felt like a cross between broken glass and napalm. He wanted to scream but the morphine made that impossible, so he just strained against the straps that bound him to the operating table, confused and in more pain than he'd ever felt in all his fourteen years. He could see them hovering over him, the surgeons, his blood on their scalpels. Their eyes held no mercy for him, and the procedures continued, each more painful than the last... :Suddenly he wasn't in the present, he was in the past, and the overwhelming pain of the memory forced a yell out of him and he struggled against the straps, only there were no straps and it was surprisingly easy to lash out and hit the nearest whitecoat. The blow sent the man flying back, and when the others tried to move in and hold him down he fought them, fragments of thought warning him that this wasn't 2525 and he wasn't enduring augmentations, but hysteria won out and he kept fighting, driven by a mixture of rage and fear and wounded pride. :Their hands pawed at him, tendrils and claws and protrusions raking against his armor's shields, and he struggled to break free from the clamoring throng, inwardly wincing as their misshapen faces contorted when they screamed. The Flood was relentless, and all it wanted was to consume the Spartan, and each controlled burst from his assault rifle sent another combat form toppling lifeless to the ground... :They weren't doctors, they were infected, because they were howling and thronging around him and trying to hold him down. Only now there was no MJOLNIR armor to shield him from the disease, and full panic took hold as he tried to get away, but they just kept coming, moaning and barking and... and... :Something pierced the back of his neck, but when he reached back he didn't find an infection form but instead a fat syringe. His arm dropped as suddenly the world became blurred and unfocused, and he realized with a guilty pang that these weren't Flood or ONI surgeons, they were doctors and nurses who were only trying to help and didn't understand that he didn't belong here. The pretty Oriental doctor was crying because her smooth face was now covered in bruises and blood, and he struggled to say something as blackness tugged at the edges of his vision, but his mouth was too dry and his tongue felt too heavy. He slumped over, bewildered, and shame overwhelmed him in a brief moment of clarity before he went unconscious. :He came to what felt like hours later, and sure enough, his arms were stuck in metal-laced restraints. John blinked, tried to raise his head, and dizziness washed over him. He looked at his left arm and spotted the source of his disorientation: an IV. Well then. Not only were they going to tie him down, they were going to drug him too. :He wasn't in his old room either. This room had no windows and smelled more stale than any of the others he'd been in. The only light source was a dim panel running along the middle of the ceiling, more of a nightlight than anything. He couldn't tell whether it was day or night because of the lack of an outside view and the fact that his internal clock had been on the fritz for years now. :Sleep came and went, punctuated by periods when someone would enter and check his drip, and hallucinations abounded. Sometimes he would find himself talking to Sam or Kelly or Cortana, even Dr. Halsey on one occasion. They were quiet, didn't talk back, but it was like he couldn't stop the words from coming, because he missed them so badly it almost hurt physically. :Days merged into weeks and nothing changed. They had put him in this cell and forgotten about him. Why they were bothering to keep him alive, he didn't know, and when he tried to think about it the drugs kicked in and his thoughts trickled away. The old Spartan tugged at his bonds, strained to break free, spouted every curse he knew and prayed in the same breath, passed out and woke to begin again. What was left of his sanity remained grim and stoic, holding fast between periods of confusion, keeping him rock-solid so he wouldn't slide away so easily. He ordered the nurse to free him, and when she ignored him he broke down and begged, and she left without a word. No one cared that he was Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN John-117, hero of humanity, the man who had saved the galaxy. No one gave a damn. He was a product to be used then put away, a manufactured good, expensive but with an expiration date all the same. It hurt to be that expendable. :It hurt to be forgotten. :"John?" :Ah. You again. :"John, can you hear me?" :Of course I can hear you. You're inside my head, remember? :"Is something wrong...?" :Wait. Where are you going? Who are you talking to? :"Check his stats. If you've done anything to him, I swear, I will have you arrested..." :Please, Cortana, talk to me. Please. :"Wait... wait, I think he's awake... John?" :I have to wake up. I have to WAKE UP. Come on, 117. Open your eyes. :He opened them. :Everything came into focus slowly, shapes materializing out of hazy blurs. There was someone standing over him, a woman, and there were two doctors behind her. The woman had dark hair, so black it almost looked blue, and a smile spread across her face as their eyes met. Her eyes... her eyes weren't human. Not quite. They were violet and they glowed softly, set in flawless pale skin. He wanted to believe he had seen her before somewhere, but couldn't muster a memory. :Then she spoke. :"Wake me when you need me, huh," she said, in a tone that was laden with regret and affection. :It was Cortana's voice after all. :John was suddenly aware of his heartbeat increasing, his mind racing, and all he could do was blink and stare like a stunned idiot, while logic and hope battled, arguing that maybe this was for real and that maybe it was just another illusion, another trick. He tried to sit up and did so clumsily, uncoordinated and groggy. The woman with Cortana's voice sat down on the side of his bed and it was only then that he noticed her black outfit and the lapel pin that adorned one side of her chest. C. Ashley. :"It's an anagram," the woman said calmly, glancing down at the tab. "In honor of my mother, of course." :Ashley. Halsey. Same letters, different arrangement. Was it real? Was this really happening? :"No," John rasped, voice rusty from drugs and sleep. "Not... possible. They told me... told me you died... went rampant..." :"I was rampant when they rescued you," she said softly. She leaned in closer, and she looked so perfect it was almost artificial. Artificial. Like artificial intelligence... "But then something wonderful happened. I became metastable. A real person. Not just a collection of thoughts and memories. A real being. And I missed you, John. I missed you so much." Fingers ghosted down the side of his face, over silvery stubble and old scars. "They told me you were dead." :John supposed that he was so used to going out of his mind by now that this wasn't enough to shock him into insanity. "I... I got hurt," he said, the words stumbling out. "My legs..." He glanced at his inert lower half, covered by bedding, and felt ashamed. Ashamed that she had to see him like this, all broken down and decrepit and useless. "How did you find me?" he asked, distracted from his self-loathing by curiosity. :"ONI needed someone to decipher Forerunner tech recovered from dig sites all across the galaxy," Cortana said, almost angrily. "After it had been determined that I was metastable, they decided it wasn't enough to simply carry me around in a data chip. So they made me a... a mobile platform, as they called it." She gestured at herself. "It's my body." :John absorbed this as best he could, trying to wrap his fractured mind around what she was saying, and all he could do was nod and hope it wouldn't overload his brain. :"But I heard whispers. Rumors, strands of data buried under layers of encryption. I chased after them, and they led me here, after all this time," Cortana whispered, real pain entering her voice. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster... wasn't good enough to get you out of this place before now. I'm so, so sorry, John." Her voice broke and she looked away. She couldn't cry tears, but she didn't have to. He knew. "That ONI did this to you... oh, you have no idea what it makes me want to do..." She clenched her fists, fists made of metal and synthetic flesh, and seeing her this upset made John feel uncomfortable. He had seen her nearly break under the Gravemind's torture. To put her through any more agony... :"Cortana," John said, addressing her directly for the first time in nearly forty years, trying to sound like his old self but failing miserably, "It's not your fault. I..." He reached up, almost hesitantly, as if afraid his hand would pass through her, like she was a ghost or a hallucination. But it didn't, and it struck him how warm her face felt, and he wondered what magic ONI had worked to make her this wonderful. "I'm the one who wasn't strong enough." :"Shut up. You've always been strong," Cortana protested, and she tilted her head into his palm, running one hand along the sinews and cords of his arms that were still powerful. "You've always been a hero, John. My hero. And I let you down." :"Ma'am..." one of the doctors ventured, clinging to his clipboard. :Cortana's head turned abruptly and she gave said doctor the glare of death. John had seen Dr. Halsey give it only once, and it looked even more ominous on Cortana. "Get out," she ordered, and the two onlookers scuttled out the door, shutting it behind them. :John suddenly felt tired, and he grunted as he had the sudden urge to fall over. He tried to ease back onto his pillow, but for once his arm wasn't steady enough, and he would have fallen if Cortana hadn't wrapped one arm around him and steered him down, and as the back of his head made contact with the pillow he sighed, and gave a bitter snort. "Some hero," he muttered, shame creeping up on him again. "You might as well leave me here. I'm done. I'm not Chief anymore; I'm not even a Spartan, dammit. I'm broken. Spent. Just look at me. There isn't anything left." :"Don't talk like that," Cortana scolded, and she played with his hair, though it was short and considerably thinner than it had been in bygone times. She smiled briefly and cocked her head. "You're right here in front of me, John. I can see you. Touch you. I'm not a voice in your helmet anymore. Not an avatar. We can be human, just us, together. Somewhere safe, where they can't find us. Somewhere far away." :John listened to her words and the prospect was tantalizing. Thirty years in this place had made him homesick for the outside world, for distant suns and constellations he'd never seen. But it all seemed so vast and huge when he thought about it, and he felt so old, that his excitement died and was replaced with resignation. She was young, perhaps eternally so, and his life was so close to its end, that the situation was almost laughable. :"What if there's no time?" he asked, and his voice faded to a whisper as every ounce of despair and depression and loneliness he had ever felt weighed down on him, crushing his spirit. The ghosts of his dead Spartan-II brothers and sisters stared at him with dead eyes, the Gravemind taunted him over his human mortality, his own conscience hissed at him like a coiled serpent. :Cortana blinked, her luminous sunset eyes boring into his own, and she leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on John's pale forehead. She sat back up and placed a finger on his mouth when he tried to say something else. "When I was with the Gravemind, I learned the true value of time," she said quietly. "I realized how short my lifespan would be... should have been. And I came to the conclusion that I would rather spend a brief seven years with the people I cared about than an eternity alone. I care about you, John. Whether it's ten years, five, or even one, I don't give a hoot. I'll have spent it with you. That's all that matters." :She took his big hand in hers and twined their fingers together. John didn't know what to say, couldn't process what he felt and turn it into words, so he just squeezed her hand carefully and relaxed as she kept watch over him. He was drowsy already and sleep beckoned, and as his eyes began to drift shut Cortana smiled, and he gave her a wavering, dopey smile in return. "Wake me," he grunted, in a voice that almost sounded like the Master Chief's. :"When I need you. Got it," Cortana replied, shaking her head. "You can count on it." :"I know." John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then sighed. Never mind that he was crippled and ailing and gradually losing his mind. Never mind that what had to be the biggest injustice of his life had just been revealed to him. Cortana was back- back to stay- and for the first time in decades, he wasn't by himself. :That fact alone was enough to chase his demons away and send him into fair dreams. |-|